


Wink Wink, Nudge Nudge

by Lulzy (likelolwhat)



Series: For the Love of a Meme [16]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Community: skyrimkinkmeme, Diplomatic Immunity Quest, Dirty Talk, Drunken Flirting, Drunken Kissing, Drunkenness, Dubious Consent, F/M, Rejection, Shameless Pun, Skyrim Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 12:27:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3067826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likelolwhat/pseuds/Lulzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Dragonborn was late to her meeting with Malborn, but maybe it would have been better if she hadn't shown up at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wink Wink, Nudge Nudge

**Author's Note:**

> De-anoning from the skyrimkinkmeme, [this prompt](http://skyrimkinkmeme.livejournal.com/4941.html?thread=10693965#t10693965).

The Dragonborn was late.

Malborn had been sitting at the same table in the same corner for several hours, waiting for the woman Delphine had promised would be there. The same bottle of Cyrodilic brandy he had bought in the waning minutes of morning was still sitting by his hand as the afternoon sunlight shone on the streets outside. His drink was only halfway-emptied; he suspected this, along with his sour scowl as he watched the entryway, was what had the innkeeper shooting him wary looks every few minutes.

If that Imperial thought he was going to start trouble, though, well, he could think again. Malborn knew better than that. Not in Solitude. The Thalmor never used their Headquarters in the city, but that didn't mean rumors wouldn't get back to them if he was involved in something.

Dammit. He was attracting too much attention, anyway, with the way Corpulus was watching him. Malborn could feel the innkeep's eyes boring into his skull just above his right ear. And the Dragonborn still hadn't arrived. He probably should have been worried, but mostly he was annoyed. She was a damned Nordic hero, she could take care of herself — nothing should have been bad enough to waylay her for so long, right? What in Oblivion was going on then?

He drummed his long fingers on the table, thinking.

Decision made, he abruptly snatched up the brandy and drained the rest in a long gulp, feeling the sting of alcohol but shrugging it off. It wasn't nearly as potent as rotmeth. He'd had the chance to try some of _that_ drink years and years before, as one of the last remaining pieces of Bosmer culture.

Then the Thalmor had taken that away too, burning Vulkwasten and its brewery to the ground.

Scowling even further at the thought, Malborn stood up, feeling his joints creak. By the Storyteller, he felt old.

The door opened, but Malborn couldn't quite see who it was at his angle. Sitting down, he'd had a view framed by a large deathbell plant and its pot, but standing up the deadly — if pretty — flowers neatly obstructed his line of sight. Corpulus could see them, however, because he slammed a tankard down on the counter and shouted, "Hey, no outside drink!"

"Fine, fine," Malborn heard a woman's voice mumble. The Bosmer sat back down, curious if the Dragonborn had finally arrived, but she'd disappeared from sight, leaving the door wide open.

There was a pause, then there she was standing in the doorway, sunlight framing her back like she was a vision from Aetherius itself. Malborn couldn't see her face, but he knew this must be his savior. Short honey hair frizzed out like a halo around her head, set aflame by the sun. Her leather armor was a little road-torn, but the cloak at her back looked new at least. She was here. She was alive.

She was also very drunk.

The Dragonborn stumbled in, leaving the door wide open. She was amused by some private joke; high-pitched giggles burst forth from her lips though she seemed to be trying to suppress them. Somehow she made her way to the counter, where Corpulus was standing. "Dragonborn," the innkeep said by way of greeting, nervousness making his voice shake. He looked torn between letting her stay and throwing her out. Malborn knew Corpulus didn't like inebriation as a rule (if it was coming in from the outside), but he also had a business to run and drunks tended to drink more. She was also the damned Dragonborn, but Malborn didn't know how much that factored in.

"Hi!" the tiny Breton gushed, sidling (as much as one drunk off her ass could sidle) up to the bar. "'M sorry, I don't remember your name."

The innkeeper twitched nervously, glancing everywhere but the Dragonborn's face. He gulped — she was inching closer and closer to him, practically crawling on top of a bar stool to stare wide-eyed with something like adoration — and said, "Corpulus Vinius, proprietor of the Winking Skeever." He inched backwards, turning his head towards the stairs. "Sorex!" he stage-whispered in desperation.

" _Corpulus?_ What kinda name is that?" The Breton woman was kneeling on a stool now, hands on the bartop.

Corpulus inched further back towards the stairs, flushing red. In one surprisingly deft movement, the Dragonborn launched herself at him, catapulting herself over the bartop and missing the fleeing innkeeper by mere inches. She fell with a _whump_ and a high-pitched cry, causing the other patrons — it was afternoon, but there were people in the inn at all hours — to glance up. Hidden as she was by the bartop from everyone but Malborn (and Corpulus, before he disappeared up the stairs calling for Sorex), the others shrugged and went back to their drinks.

"Aww..." the Breton moaned from the floor.

Malborn thought about helping her, but he really didn't want to be part of it anymore. This was Delphine's hero? They were both insane. Who got drunk right before infiltrating a building full of hostile soldiers and spellcasters?

He pushed his chair back, about to stand up again, but the noise alerted the pitiful drunk, who whipped her head around so fast Malborn was sure she'd break her neck. Before he could so much as move, she scrambled up from the floor and stumbled over to him.

_Oh, fuck. Not now,_ Malborn thought as she managed to slide into the chair opposite him.

"Hey, shweety. I'm Mad— Madeline. Aren't you — _hic!_ — lovely!"

"Lovely?!" he blurted out before he could stop himself. Who called someone like him lovely?

"Yesh! Lovely!" She broke out into a string of giggles again. "I've alwaysh had a thing for— for— cannibals!" This last word was particularly loud, drowning out the bard. Lisette scowled at the back of her kinswoman's head before launching into an enthusiastic rendition of, ironically, enough, _The Dragonborn Comes_.

Malborn's face was burning, but he couldn't get his legs to move, to vault him out of the chair and into the streets of Solitude. "I'm not a cannibal. Bosmer haven't been cannibals for hundreds of years." Why was he explaining himself to her?

"Jeesh, man, you don't have to— to be so defenshive." Madeline grabbed his Cyrodiilic Brandy and attempted to take a swig before realizing it was already empty.

"Yes I do! You called me a cannibal!" _Stop reasoning with her, she's drunk as fuck, stop it stop it walk away—_

She looked confused, nose scrunching up as she tried to work through the fog of alcohol. It was actually rather cute. "I... did?"

Malborn buried his head in his hands and groaned.

"Shay, you're kinda hot. No! Really, really hot."

Malborn peeked through his fingers to find her upending the empty bottle in her mouth again. She frowned at it when nothing came out. Maybe if he was quiet, she would find someone else to bother.

"You know this shong? The Dragonborn Comes! Well..." She leaned forward, as if it were a big secret. (He leaned back; she stank of mead.) "I'm the Dragonborn, bitshes. And I wanna come."

_Oh, fuck._ He'd never be rid of her now. "I don't think you should be asking me..." he protested weakly as she leaned in more and more and he tried desperately to get away from those puckered lips.

His chair tipped back, and he crashed to the floor. Madeline darted off her chair and was on him in an instant, straddling his waist, grabbing him by the ties on his tunic, and planting a sloppy kiss right on his mouth. He tried to get her off, batting at her arms and body, but she was much stronger than she appeared.

Then she shifted back slightly, and the curve of her generous ass rubbed against him. Hard. "Aaaagh," he moaned, strangled, as stars blinked in and out of existence in his eyes.

Meanwhile, Madeline seemed to be attempting to suck his soul out through his mouth. Where was everyone? Why weren't they trying to help him?

"Hey, what do you two think you're doing?!" Corpulus' voice rang out suddenly, sounding angrier than Malborn had ever heard him. "You want to do that, get a room!" He had come back down the stairs, and Malborn had to admit the situation probably looked sketchy to the innkeep's eyes.

Madeline pulled off him with a wet _pop_ , staring up at Corpulus with wide, innocent eyes. "Who, me?"

Malborn tilted his head back and gasped, "Help—"

"Help?" Madeline looked down at him, hurt etched in ever corner of her face and her unfocused eyes. "Come on, lovely, don't do thish to meee."

"I'm sorry, Madeline, I can't. You're drunk; I can't take advantage of you." _Yes, pin it on yourself instead of her._ That's _going to work_ , a snide voice whispered in the back of his mind.

But though she looked about to cry, she made to get up. She stumbled back, hit the edge of the table, and went down again, banging her head against the chair seat. Then she was little more than a boneless, unconscious lump on the floor.

Corpulus sighed heavily, gesturing to his son who had appeared behind him. "Come on Sorex, help me get her out the door. And you, Wood Elf, get up before I throw you out too, room or no room."

Malborn sat up, adjusting his tunic to cover the evidence of his arousal. He watched Corpulus and Sorex each take an end of the Dragonborn and haul her up. She swung like a hammock between them. It was a pitiful sight indeed, and Malborn couldn't bear it. She was still the Dragonborn, and he still needed her to infiltrate the Embassy for that mad quest of Delphine's. "Wait, please," he called out as the father and son made it to the still-open door. "Can you put her in my room? I'll make sure she sleeps it off." She just couldn't be hungover for the party the next day. Luckily, it was in the evening. That should give them plenty of time...

Corpulus paused, turning back with an irritated expression. "Fine, but I won't have you taking advantage of the poor girl. You'll stay down here where I can keep an eye on you."

"She was the one who was all over me!"

The Imperial glanced over to the corner, where Addvar, Greta and Svari were sitting quietly. When none of them would meet his eye, he looked to Lisette, who merely shrugged. _The people of Solitude are so reliable,_ the snide voice whispered in Malborn's brain again. "Whatever, Elf."

Malborn sighed with relief, glad he had decided to splurge on a room away from the Thalmor Embassy for his rare day off. This might have gotten difficult if Madeline had been dumped outside.

As the father-son team maneuvered their burden up the stairs, Malborn picked up the bottle where it lay on the floor under the table and sat back down, twirling it in his hands. He still wasn't sure about kicking the hornet's nest on a mere suspicion, but Delphine had pulled her favors. He was well and truly stuck. He knew that the Dragonborn — Madeline — would likely be caught, and he would be implicated. If Delphine wasn't holding his past over him...

Delphine. She had her paranoia about the Thalmor, and he had his paranoia about _her_. She would drag them all to ruin, and it would be all the worse for her convictions that she was doing the world a favor. Crazy. Crazy as Sheogorath on skooma.

_Everything will be fine,_ he half-thought, half-prayed. It had to be.

It had to be.


End file.
